Microsoft Word - John Francome - Inside Track.doc

by Gene

  That focused the vet's attention. `What do you mean?' he said. `My boss has got an entry in the same race and I don't want her up against a horse that's on rocket fuel, or whatever you give them.' Walter said nothing, just went back to his pint.

  Dave continued, `For the avoidance of doubt, as my solicitor used to say, I don't mind if our horse is beaten fair and square by yours. That's OK by me.'

  Walter's eyebrows rose in surprise. `Just supposing that things are as you imagine, how on earth will you know?'

  ,I won't. But I'm going to trust you, Walter. For old time's sake and all that.'

  The vet turned the matter over in his mind. `You're assuming that this is in my control?’

  'It had better be. You ought to realise that I'm not quite so naive as you think. I know one or two journalists who've got a bit of clout. If I see Adolf flying in the last half-mile like he did at Newbury then I shall be renewing my acquaintance sharpish.'

  `You've got no proof.'

  Dave laughed. `What's proof got to do with it? A juicy rumour usually does the trick. And I don't suppose Toby Priest would appreciate the Racing Beacon turning up at Ridgemoor to check it out.'

  Walter stared sullenly at him. `Can I have my hundred pounds back?'

  Dave was still holding the notes in his hand. He peeled off the top one and passed the rest across the table. Ì'll just get you another drink, Walter. It looks like you need it.'

  After she'd finished her early-morning chores at Ros's yard, Marie usually got a chance to ride out. The morning after she'd called him, Jamie turned up and gave her a few riding tips as she took Spring Fever over the practice jumps. That had been fun.

  She'd had to dash to work so they'd not had time to talk, but that was OK

  by her. It made sense to get to know one another a bit better. This morning 258

  she'd kept an eye open for him but he'd not showed up until she was on the point of leaving.

  Ì'll walk with you for a bit,' he said and took charge of her bicycle, wheeling it along the lane to the gate.

  Ì've been thinking about what you told me,' she said. Ì can't speak for my family, but as far as I'm concerned we all ought to put Alan's death behind us. We've got to live in the future, after all.'

  `That's good to hear. Thanks, Marie.'

  Ì also think you've got to ease up on yourself. It seems to me it wasn't all your fault.'

  He stopped. `What do you mean?'

  Ìf you were that drunk when you left the pub, why didn't your friends stop you driving?'

  He thought about it for a moment. Ì don't know.' `Couldn't one of them have driven?'

  `Richard didn't have a licence. I don't think he even knew how to drive in those days.'

  `What about the other one?'

  'Malcolm? He wanted to but I wouldn't let him. I said I was all right.'

  Marie wasn't convinced, but what was the point of grilling Jamie about it?

  Hadn't she just said they ought to put it behind them?

  They were now at the junction with the main road. Time for her to get on her bike.

  Walter was slow in dragging himself out of bed and forcing a bowl of branflakes into his hung-over system. He'd hit the brandy bottle when he'd returned last night from the pub. But despite anaesthetising himself to the point where he couldn't manage to squeeze the toothpaste tube, the bony features of Dave Prescott had grinned at him throughout his dreams. And now he was running late, which was a big mistake as it gave Adriana a chance to buttonhole him on her return from the school run.

  Ì am so bored,' she cried as she strode into the kitchen and threw her car keys onto the silver Alessi coffee tray with a clang that rattled Walter's skull. `When are you going to take me away from this tedious place? You promised me, Walter.'

  259

  Had he? Disenchantment with domesticity was her latest bug-bear. She'd been happy enough when they'd been doing up the house, spending money on architects and builders and interior decorators. Then he'd turned her loose on the garden and she'd spent a fortune out there too, landscaping and remodelling and replanting. Now it was all perfect, she was itching to start again somewhere else.

  The problem was, she had no friends. The svelte, stylish Italian didn't exactly fit in with the local housewives. And she didn't much care for horses, which was a drawback, all things considered. In fact, according to the latest bulletin she hated the wretched creatures almost as much as she loathed Yorkshire and its beastly cold wet climate.

  Ì want to go home,' she announced, dragging a straight-backed kitchen chair across the stone floor with a noise like fingernails on a blackboard.

  She dropped onto the seat, crossing her long legs in sprayed on denim jeans and jiggling a foot just in Walter's eye-line. Those trainers cost over E120, thought Walter irrelevantly.

  `Take me back to Roma,' Adriana demanded with a pout of her oyster-pink lips.

  `No,' he said shortly. Ìt's too damned hot.' He wasn't in the mood for soft-pedalling. They'd had this argument before. He knew what was coming next.

  `Let's go to the south, then,' she said. `You can get another job where they have all those nice race courses like Ascot.'

  Adriana knew about Ascot. She liked to bitch about the women's clothes on Ladies Day at the Royal meeting.

  `No,' he said, getting to his feet. `Listen to me, darling. We're doing all right here at the moment. The kids are in good schools and money goes a lot further up here than it does down south. Look, I'm late, I've got to rush.'

  He beat it out of there before she could carry on whining. As it happened, he wouldn't mind a move. The right job at the right yard could work out well for all of them. But first he needed the right connections. It was a long-term proposition. In the meantime he had to deal with a short-term problem.

  260

  It had been stupid of him to start giving Dave Prescott racing tips. It just showed what happened when you tried to do a mate a favour. Then you found out he wasn't a real mate at all.

  Whatever happened, Dave must not be allowed to carry out his threat of blowing the whistle on him to the press. Even if nothing could be proved, he'd be scuppered and the present job - let alone future ones - would evaporate quicker than a journalist could type EPO. At present there was no definitive test for the drug, whatever the papers might say. But at the back of his mind was the thought that one day there would be. And if there were too many rumours about its use the Jockey Club might start storing blood samples for future testing. Then the game really would be up.

  He'd had his orders from Toby about Beaufort Bonanza. The horse had to put in another big performance at Carlisle. The owners - Beaufort Holidays - were in mourning for the death of the director who'd championed the acquisition of the horse and the occasion was to be dedicated to her memory. In other words, Adolf had to win.

  But ... any number of things could go wrong with horses. So far EPO had proved a very successful means of enhancing performance, but there had to be a failure sometime. It sounded as if the time had come.

  Walter drove to Ridgemoor in a happier frame of mind. He'd simply omit to administer the drug and, when challenged, claim it hadn't had any effect. By the law of averages there had to be a cock-up soon - and this was going to be it.

  One of Jane's regrets about the Bonfire Night Murders being shifted to the bottom of the in tray was that she no longer saw much of Simon. She knew he was up to his eyes in an assortment of cases and he always popped into her office on his infrequent visits from Deacon Parade.

  However, the call she'd been expecting to repeat their evening out had not arrived and she couldn't keep engineering cosy drives to Yorkshire. The ball was now in his court and, she had to face it, he did not seem inclined to kick it in her direction.

  Nevertheless, she entertained hopes, as a single woman with healthy appetites still does whenever an attractive man of partnership potential shows up on her radar. And the last person she wanted Simon to see her with was Superintendent Keith Wrigh
t.

  261

  Jane's office door was flung open just as the Super was launching into a waffly preamble about manpower restrictions. Jane saw Simon's face fall at Wright's presence.

  `Good afternoon, sir,' he said, adding; Ì'll catch you another time, Jane,' as he retreated.

  Wright scarcely registered the interruption but Jane cursed under her breath. Apart from anything else, she wanted to tell Simon what she'd learned from Elizabeth about Malcolm Priest. Instead she was doomed to be bored by Keith Wright while he doubtless worked round to asking her out (again).

  To her astonishment she heard him mention a familiar name. Ì thought you'd be interested to hear the latest on the Priest family over in Yorkshire.'

  That got her attention all right.

  Keith grinned at her smugly. `You didn't think I knew about your visit to Toby Priest, did you? Not much gets by me, Jane. He had a moan to an old pal of mine who advises him on security at his yard.'

  Ìt was a long-shot, sir, but I'll follow up anything to get a handle on that double-murder.'

  `Quite right too,' he said pompously. `Bit of a waste of time, though, I expect.'

  `Yes.' She didn't want to go into details. `What's your news on him?' He smiled at her in a self-satisfied fashion. She wondered how she was going to wiggle out of the inevitable invitation that would follow whatever information he was about to favour her with. Às a matter of fact, my dear, it's not about Toby. It's one of his sons - not the jockey, the other one.'

  'Malcolm?' There was surprise in her voice and eagerness too. It wouldn't have escaped him.

  `That's right. I understand there's an anonymous female ringing Harrogate CID alleging that he's just killed someone.'

  What?

  Wright had all of her attention now and he was obviously enjoying it. À

  woman called Beverley Harris was found dead in her bath a couple of days ago. She worked for a holiday company with whom Malcolm Priest has a business association.'

  262

  `So he's a murder suspect?'

  `Not exactly. It looks like an accidental death. Harrogate would like to interview the anonymous caller though. They're trying to track her down.'

  `Who's in charge of this, sir? I'd like a word.'

  Ì'm sure I can discover that little detail for you, Jane. Why don't we get together out of the office - tomorrow evening, say? It'll give me time to make a few calls.'

  Damn. She knew the oily sod would have something up his sleeve. `Do you mind awfully, sir, if you just give me a buzz?'

  His moist little mouth turned down at the edges. `Don't want to be seen with me in public, is that it?'

  `No, of course not. It's just that -' the idea came out of the bluè- I'm seeing someone and he might get the wrong end of the stick.' Òh.' He was not happy to hear that. Good. And the beauty of it was that she was permanently off the hook.

  Ì'm sorry, Keith.' She smiled. Best to let them down easy, that's what her mother had always said.

  Òh well, in that case, I shall retire gracefully.' He got to his feet. At the door he turned to face her. Ì'd like to meet this lucky fellow of yours.

  Perhaps the three of us could get together.'

  Jesus. Now she'd have to make excuses for herself and someone who didn't even exist. What the hell was she supposed to say now?

  `You already know him, sir. It's Simon Bennett.'

  Even as she spoke the words she knew she shouldn't have said that. Clem made his mind up when he saw the declarations in the paper for the following day. He told Joyce in a tone of voice that brooked no argument and, to his surprise, he got none.

  Ì'm going to Carlisle Races tomorrow,' he said, ànd don't try to stop me.'

  Once he'd been a regular racegoer, sneaking off to midweek meetings when he could and delegating things at the garage. He'd been a couple of times in the year after Alan's death but his failing health had put a stop to that.

  `How are you going to get there?' she asked.

  `Taxi, train - don't you worry about me.'

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  Òf course I worry about you, you daft fool,' she replied with her familiar belligerence. Ì'm not having you puffing and wheezing around railway stations. If you insist on going I'll drive you.'

  That's what he'd been hoping for, of course, but he'd not dared to ask. `But what about the Post Office? Can you get the day off?'

  Ì'm taking it, whether old Jennings likes it or not.' `Joyce, you're one in a million.'

  `Don't give me that rubbish,' she muttered as she whisked away his breakfast tray.

  But she was a grand lass. No question.

  Jane wondered at which point in the day she could start nagging Keith Wright for the name of the Yorkshire officer dealing with the anonymous phone calls. Maybe she should have held out the promise of a date until she'd got what she wanted? But mind and body rebelled at the thought.

  Anyhow it was too late now, as she'd said to Simon when shed phoned him last night.

  Ì've got a confession to make,' was how she'd opened the conversation and, Ì wish I'd never said it but it's too late now,' was how she'd ended.

  She doubted he'd heard, however, as he appeared to be having a choking fit.

  Àre you all right?' she'd shouted into the phone, which had attracted Robbie from his room, any excuse not to be doing his English. She'd waved him back angrily.

  The breathy, gulping noises on the other end of the line arranged themselves into a more familiar pattern and she realised, with relief and fury, that he was laughing. It took a while for him to control himself.

  Ì'm sorry,' she said finally, `but would you mind playing along for a bit, just to get him off my back? Unless . . .' and a horrible thought struck her

  `. . . you're involved with someone at the moment. In which case, I couldn't ask you. That would be wrong. I'll just, well, I'll think of something else.'

  He chuckled a bit more - a lazy, deep brown, patronising chuckle this time. She knew she was going to suffer for her stupidity.

  264

  `Don't worry, Jane,' he said finally. Às it happens, I am theoretically unattached at present and I'm flattered to be your - what is it I am exactly?

  - your sleeping partner?'

  `Thank you, Simon. With luck Wright won't mention it at all but I had to tell you.'

  ÒK, but if he does I'm going to need a bit of background. Like what movie we saw last night or what we're planning to do at the weekend.'

  `For God's sake, Simon.'

  Ì'm serious - we've got to get our stories straight. I'm going to need a full breakdown of all those little details known only to those with whom we share our most intimate moments.'

  Òh sod off.'

  `This was your idea, darling.'

  She'd slammed the phone down and looked up to find Robbie grinning at her from the doorway.

  `Have you got a thing going with him, Mum?' A thing? Just what had she started?

  Now the phone on her desk rang and she snatched it up, hoping it was the Superintendent with the information she wanted. It was Simon. Ì've just passed Wright in the corridor and he was all over me about you. He didn't look happy. This had better not stuff up my career.'

  'Simon, I'm sorry. I'll go and talk to him today and straighten it out.'

  `There's no need to do that. Just tell me one thing so I know next time he asks me - what exactly do you wear in bed?'

  She hated him.

  Marie's mind was only half on the job as she worked through the slowly dwindling pile of files. She'd played and replayed in her head her conversations with Jamie and her argument with her aunt. Out of it all one comment kept returning to bother her. What had Joyce meant by calling Jamie Ros's `toy boy'? It shamed her that such an obvious piece of unfounded gossip should dominate her thoughts. But it did and it wouldn't go away. And she didn't know how to go about laying it to rest. She certainly wasn't going to raise the matter with Jamie or Ros or - least of all

  - her aunt.
<
br />   265

  An uneasy truce was in place at home. Marie was being polite but distant towards her aunt and Joyce was being distant without bothering with the politeness. So far, fingers crossed, she didn't appear to have said anything to her father. That was something to be thankful for.

  She opened the next folder and was unprepared for the physical shock that seized her. She read the patient's name over and over, repeating it in her mind, just to make sure she wasn't somehow fooling herself. But the file really was headed: Hutchison, James Robert. Jamie's medical notes.

  When Dr Gooding had employed her he'd stressed the importance of maintaining patient confidentiality. It had counted in her favour that he'd known her all his life and, so he'd said, trusted her as if she were his own daughter. She had signed a document binding her to secrecy and so far she had stuck to it faithfully. Nothing she had learned from the files had been passed to anyone else and she had put aside the medical histories of those few people she knew personally for someone else to deal with.

  Jamie's folder was different. She couldn't resist reading it. Compared to most files it was thin. Jamie had been a pretty healthy child. There was a history of sinus problems, which had vanished in puberty, and a few knocks, including a broken wrist, which Marie guessed had been the result of falling off horses. In 1999, however, came the car crash and a sheaf of reports from specialists on his injuries. She noticed references to his amnesia, which gave her a twinge of guilt as she recalled her reaction to his claim that he couldn't remember the accident.

  But the piece of paper that interested her most, that riveted her attention as she read it through, was from the Accident & Emergency Department at High Moor Hospital. These were the notes compiled on Jamie's admission immediately following the crash. He had a suspected punctured lung, crushed ribs, a fractured arm and head trauma. One symbol was repeated throughout the list, the letter `L' in a circle, meaning `left'. Jamie's injuries were predominantly down the left-hand side of his body.